


A Squire With Prospects

by ineptshieldmaid



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M, M/M, Sexual Tension, cross-dressing (full-time)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-18
Updated: 2008-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:45:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1637195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptshieldmaid/pseuds/ineptshieldmaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'She'd been a boy, and now she was a woman, but she'd never been a <i>girl</i>: Gary reflects on his friends Alan and Alanna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Squire With Prospects

**Author's Note:**

> Love and oaths of homage to kayloulee and agenttrojie for dedicated beta-work. :)
> 
> Written for m_shell

 

 

Alanna the Lioness wore dresses on occasion. She looked quite nice in them, Gary thought, although he didn't dare say so. The Lioness was not shy of letting her sharp tongue loose on those who made too much of her occasional appearances in more feminine garb. She refused to be seen in a dress at state functions, of which Gary thoroughly approved. The King's Champion might _be_ a woman, but there would only be trouble if she made a habit of looking or acting like one. Mithros knew there was already enough gossip lurking about the place, and if Gary thought too hard about how much of it was true, he ended up with a bitter taste in his mouth.

Apparently Alanna had decided her wedding was as good as a state function. Gary happened to be visiting Myles of Olau's town house when the seamstresses arrived for her final fitting. Myles, as her father, was called upon to make approving remarks, and Gary tagged along behind. There was Alanna, in loose trousers that were some shade of cream (Gary supposed pitched battle had been waged over the exact degree of deviation from white), and a shirt of the same with close-fitting sleeves augmented by slightly ridiculous puffs at the shoulders. The seamstress was adjusting a long tunic in rusty red when they came in, and both Eleni and Thayet were standing about clucking and fussing. Myles murmured his approval, and then Gary realised Alanna's eyes were on him, one eyebrow slightly raised.

'You look... nice,' he managed.

Alanna beamed, and began buckling her sword-belt over her tunic. The seamstress spluttered and fussed at the creases, and Alanna batted her away impatiently.

'Shoo,' she muttered. 'I'm not going anywhere without my sword, and that's _final_.'

Thayet and Eleni were smirking behind their hands, and Myles' eyes were twinkling with mirth. Alanna turned and appealed to Gary:

'Would _you_ get married without your sword?'

Gary had to concede that he would not, although, now that he thought about it, he wondered what use one expected to have for a sword at a wedding. He waved ineffectually at Alanna in her new... outfit.

'It's your wedding,' he said, earning himself a Don't Be Stupid look. 'I thought you'd be wearing a dress. No one's going to attack you.'

'I wouldn't count on it,' Alanna muttered.

'Well, we'll all be there,' he offered, although he should have known better than to expect that would make a difference. 'Don't you want to look like -' he was going to say _a woman_ , but changed his tack at the last second '- a bride?'

Alanna stared at him for a moment, apparently appalled that he would think such a thing. Before she could gather her thoughts to reply, there was a low whistle behind him, and Alanna's face lit up all at once.

'Now, there's a sight for sore eyes!' Baron George Cooper- evidently only just returned from his new estate- strode into the room and caught Alanna up in his arms. She had to lean back to look up into his face, and his arms fit snugly around her, pulling her tunic close to her body and highlighting curves which were barely evident before.

'Flatterer,' Alanna declared, and cuffed her husband-to-be upside the head. George burst out laughing.

'That's my girl!' He bent down to kiss her, although even then, she had to stand on tip-toe to meet him.

Gary thought it wasn't right to call Alanna a girl. She'd been a boy, and now she was a woman- even if she didn't look the part- but she'd never been a _girl_.

* * *

'You've good taste in enemies, even if you do make them on your first day here.' Jon's assessment of Alan had held true throughout her life, and she'd shown she had good taste in friends, too. Gary had been Alan's first real friend: she hadn't chosen Gary, Gary had chosen _Alan_. He'd liked the boy's pluck - liked his taste in enemies, too.

Alex of Tirragen - who would be counted Alan's friend and Alanna's enemy - had been with him the day Alan arrived. Alex: quiet, graceful, and rarely far from Gary's side. Gary knew some of their friends counted Alex Gary's shadow, as Francis was Raoul's. Gary knew they were wrong.

When Gary offered to act as Alan's sponsor, Alex merely raised one eyebrow and gave Gary a tolerant smile. Gary liked that smile: it said that Gary could adopt all the stray youngsters he chose, but they were _friends_ , he and Alex. And so Gary kept an eye on Alan as he settled into the pages' routine, and he was pleased to find that Alex did the same. Alan was pert, and he could make them both laugh. Gary tried not to think about the fact that before Alan came along, it had been his province to make Alex laugh, just as it had been Alex's part to steer Gary through the treacherous waters of mathematics. No. Alex was a kind and generous friend, and Alan was good company. Besides, Gary fancied that Alex would not have taken such interest in Alan's fortunes had Gary not done so first, and he liked that Alex respected his taste in friends.

A few months after Alan had come to court, Gary and Alex were alone. Alex had brought his lap-harp, the art of which he was attempting to impart to Alan, once mathematics had been put to rest for the night. On this particular evening, however, Alan had been called away to speak to Gary's father and had not returned. Gary, ostensibly working his way through a large tome on the history of drought and famine in Tortall, was watching Alex play. Alex had slender fingers which darted back and forth across the strings, and when he played his brow furrowed in concentration and his mouth hung open a little. Gary sometimes thought that he could have popped something into that open mouth and Alex would have been too lost in concentration to notice at all.

Alan bursting back into the room snapped Alex out of his reverie. He folded his hands on top of his harp as Alan almost bounced his way across the room to Gary. For all his excitement, Alan was doing his best to maintain a straight face.

'So, Gary,' he began. 'What are you doing tomorrow?'

Gary grinned up at him. 'Sitting in class, same as you.'

'The Duke - your father - says I can have tomorrow morning to visit the city and you can come with me.'

Gary found himself surprised. 'Not -' he cocked his head toward Alex, who shook his head.

'Extra ethics, remember?'

'Oh, yes,' Gary did remember. 'What did you do to deserve that?'

Alex smiled his slow, wicked smile. 'Something very unethical.'

Gary had to admit, it was nice to walk about the capital with Alan, needling him for his country-boy excitement and showing him around. Extra ethics notwithstanding, it was nice to think that someone - Alan - had chosen _him_ over Alex. Sophisticated, beautiful Alex.

Gary did not tell Alex about meeting George Cooper. The fewer people knew a secret, the better kept it stayed. Gary did not keep his own secrets from Alex, but this particular secret was Alan's.

* * *

Their friendships changed with time. Gary wasn't entirely sure when it happened: perhaps when he, Alex and Raoul had become squires and Jon had adopted Alan in their place. Or perhaps it was something gradual, and he simply hadn't noticed. It struck him when they returned from the Drell River: things had changed. Alex was busy: Gary had hoped that once they were knighted, he might have seen more of his friend, but Alex was still in Duke Roger's personal retinue. Gary had no need to be ambitious himself, but Alex had always been ambitious, and Gary had admired the dedication it brought out in him. So he really wasn't surprised that he saw less of Alex than he'd like, and when he did see him, it was usually in the company of their wider circle of friends. Sometimes, Gary wasn't sure that he really regretted the change at all. He found himself avoiding Alex's company, and eventually it dawned on him: he was afraid to find out if, after several years in which they had not had time to be close friends, he no longer _liked_ Alex so much as he had.

Increasingly, Gary sought out Alan when he needed a laugh, or when he had some new and scandalous piece of court gossip to share. The intense rivalry which had broken out the previous year, with the arrival of Delia of Eldorne, had dissipated somewhat. For Gary, the news that his father was talking seriously with Cythera of Elden's father had quite put a dampener on his enthusiasm for flirting with young ladies ( _especially_ Cythera of Elden). Time and changing court circles had brought new infatuations for their other friends, and Alan - lurking in window-seats and secluded corners - would roll his eyes at Gary and remark that they two were the only ones with any sense. Even Raoul, who hated social kerfuffles, had some lady-love or another as often as not.

Alan had plenty of sense, but Jonathan certainly did not. The prince was a quarry of contradictions: he would drag Alan out to dance with every one of the prettiest ladies at court, but no sooner had he done so than he would cart Alan away and read him the riot act. He oughtn't to lead the girls on so, he was a shameless flirt, where was his sense of decency?

'Come now, Jon,' Gary laid his hand on the Prince's arm. 'Alan's got as much right to flirt as any other lad.' It wasn't like Jon to be jealous - after all, there was hardly a woman in the court who'd turn the Crown Prince down.

Jon glowered at him and pointedly shrugged off his hand. 'He shouldn't lead people on.'

Gary tried reason: 'I've not seen Alan flirting with anyone, Jon. He's being civil, that's all. Besides, he's a squire with prospects...'

Alan frowned. 'I'm leaving as soon as I win my shield, Gary.'

Gary gave him an indulgent smile, and slung his arm around Alan's shoulders. 'You're just saying that because you haven't met the right girl yet, my friend.'

And then Jon decided Alan should be dancing with girls again, and whisked him out of Gary's grip.

* * *

Gareth the Younger of Naxen wondered what kind of man his friend Alan would have grown into. It was not that he found Alanna to be incompatible with Alan, or that he disliked Alanna at all. On the contrary, he liked her, trusted her, and found that he missed her company when she was not in Corus. She had Alan's quick temper, his caustic wit, and was still as stubborn as a mule. 

But Alanna was not Alan, and the difference was greater than some people might think. Gary supposed Jon and George had both had much longer than he in which to know Alanna - long enough that neither of them thought of Alan at all any longer. He remembered well enough what it had been like at court while Alanna had been with the Bazhir: Jon pining, mooning, sulking and then taking up with that unpleasant Copper Isles princess. One would think he knew better than to deflower actual royalty, but evidently not. Well, that situation had turned out for the worst for reasons entirely unrelated to Princess Josiane's virtue.

While Jon was busy missing Alanna, and Raoul busy wishing he'd had the chance to know Alanna, and the entire court was busy gossiping about Alanna, Gary had been missing Alan. Alan had always said that he planned to be a roving knight, but Gary had never quite believed him. Time would temper the young hothead. Alan was a second son: the days when a knight's full purse could be earned on the road were past. Alan was no great hero, no tool of the gods (that was Alanna through and through). There would be a place for Alan in the king's service: a garrison to command, an ambassador to protect, a place in the royal administration. Gary had been rather looking forward to the last option: Alan had proven himself competent enough in managing the Trebond estate for his brother, and Alan's stubborn dedication and sharp wit would have made a nice change from Raoul's sloppy regard for 'administrivia' and his bitter attitude to court and the work of restoring the kingdom.

Gary watched Alanna ride out from Corus, to disappear into the Bazhir desert for the second time, and he knew he would miss her, personally, but that life at court would proceed that much more smoothly without her. And Gary found that, once again, he missed his friend Alan. Alan would have stood by his friends and his king and faced the impossible task of rebuilding their kingdom with dogged commitment. Not that Alanna's loyalty to Jon was in doubt, but Gary wondered if Alan's were stronger, and less likely to cause strife.

But then, not everyone knew as well as Gary quite how deep Alan's loyalty to Jon had run... and if they did, well, then there would have been trouble of a different sort.

* * *

Gary had a knack of overhearing - yes, eavesdropping, if you had to put it like that. Occasionally he saw things, as well. Things he tucked away in his memory, because you never knew when a piece of information or a bit of insight might come in handy. Sometimes he broached the subject: never blackmail, you understand. He thought of them as... constructive suggestions. For the most part, the persons in question never even knew he'd been snooping.

And then there were some things he discovered which he would never mention. Secrets which he would defend with his last breath. If he arranged matters right, the possessors of such a secret might never know he was there, watching their backs.

He had been looking for Raoul, late one night. His friend had disappeared from another party, already rolling drunk, and young Douglass had tracked down Gary to say that he could not find his knight-master anywhere. A little worried (did no one else notice how much Raoul was drinking these days?), Gary prowled about the corridors, poking his head into libraries and salons, looking for the sort of place where a drunken Raoul might choose to pass out.

Gary never did find Raoul - the palace servants found him the next morning, passed out in the tailors' wing for no apparent reason. What Gary found instead was the explanation for Jon's fits of jealousy and Alan's reluctance to flirt with young ladies. A library, Gary thought, was not the best-advised place to conduct your illicit liaisons, not when you had a perfectly good suite of rooms all to yourselves. He never could think of a tactful way to suggest that to Jon, not without letting on that he knew. And besides, he wouldn't forget easily the curve of Jon's throat as he threw his head back, or the deep rumble in the Prince's throat as he bucked up into Alan's mouth. Something told Gary that privacy was not Jon's greatest concern, and, Mithros' balls, wasn't that inconvenient for a fellow in his position.

More than Jon's neck, or the way his hips rolled or the rumble in his throat, Gary had trouble banishing _Alan_ from his memory. He tried, Blessed Mother did he try. And yet he remembered. Alan's eyes lit up when Jon entered the room, and Gary remembered those same eyes, lashes cast down as his mouth worked on his lover. Gary remembered the way Jon had pulled Alan forward by the hair, and the way Alan's eyes had flicked up to Jon's face, wide and dark with want.

They would all be lazing about in Jon's sitting room, and Gary would look up to see Alan working on Jon's equipment, polishing tack or sharpening his sword with the same firm, deliberate rhythm he had always used. He'd used the same strong, even stroke, his fingers wrapped around Jon's shaft and sliding steadily up and down. Gary knew _exactly_ how those callous fingers would feel, knew it still, all these years later.

Worse still were the times when Gary and Alan took to the practice yards together. Alan never spoke while fencing, but he made small noises, little grunts of exertion or quick intakes of breath. Alan always bested Gary with the sword, and usually faster than he ought to have, as Gary's mind would fill with distracting recollection. The sharp drawing of breath as he was tugged forward. The rapid rise and fall of his chest as he closed his eyes and let his mouth and hands guide him. The little grunt of surprise, as if he'd been too lost in the taste and the smell and the feel of it to notice that he'd won until his lover jerked and fell back into the chair.

And _gods_ , Alan had had his hand in his breeches the whole time. That was the part Gary really could not forget. He hadn't seen if Alan had his breeches open and himself in hand - Jon's leg had been in the way. Gary could tell by his posture, by the way his shoulder jerked and shifted. It was far easier to read Alan's body like this than on the practice courts, and Gary thought perhaps he hadn't even bothered to unlace his breeches, that he'd not been planning on this part. Alan had actually _enjoyed_ what he was doing to Jon, enjoyed it so much he'd had to stuff his hand down the front of his breeches just to bring himself some relief. He'd worked his hand on himself with a desperate, jerky rhythm quite unlike the steady, graceful strokes he was giving Jon, and when Jon collapsed back into his chair, Alan slumped forward with his head on Jon's belly. That shoulder jerked faster and then Alan's whole body convulsed and he knelt there breathing hard, and Gary desperately wished it was he who had his hands in Alan's hair and pulled him up to be kissed.

He tried not to to think about that last part too much. It only made things awkward.

* * *

Gary slipped into Cythera's sitting room in the late evening. His wife looked up as he came in, and he gestured to indicate that she should remain seated.

'Was there something you needed?' She pushed a curl back from her face - she really did have lovely curls, Cythera. Gary gave her a smile, and then wondered uncomfortably when it was that he had last talked to his wife.

'Truth to tell,' he said, a little shamefacedly, 'I thought you might have tea somewhere about. I don't like to make Gerald fetch and carry so late at night.'

Cythera smiled back, and Gary thought he caught a glimmer of amusement in her eye. 'Certainly we do.' Her maidservant materialised from somewhere, setting a kettle on the hob of the fireplace, and producing a tray of buns. Gary took one, and settled contentedly into an armchair.

'Do you mind if I...?' Cythera cocked her head, waiting for permission to continue whatever it was she had been doing. Gary nodded, and then blinked several times as he focused on what she was actually doing. There was his wife, Cythera, in a split riding skirt, oiling one of those short recurve bows similar to those the Queens Riders carried. The riding skirt, he noticed, was well worn, even slightly patched at one side.

'Cythera!' Her head snapped up in surprise. 'You've joined the Riders?'

She had a lovely laugh, and Gary thought he ought to make a point of hearing it more often. 'No, sir. The Queen -'

'Cythera.' He stopped her. 'You've called me Gareth for years. Don't stop now.'

'As you wish. Gareth.' Godsdamnit, she was laughing behind her eyes at him again. 'Her Majesty is handing command of the Riders over to Commander Tourakom, surely you knew that?'

'Jon might have mentioned something,' Gary conceded. 'And this necessitates you polishing weapons?'

Cythera flushed. 'If I'd known you were coming, I'd have changed.'

'Gods and little fishes,' he used one of George Cooper's favourite expressions. 'I don't mind. You've seen me in my practice gear time and again.' And now that he thought about it, Cythera looked a damn sight better in rough clothes than he did: the sensible skirt and blouse did nothing to hide the slim curves of her figure, and her ankles slipped daintily from below the split skirt's hems. Her pretty hair had obviously been pulled back earlier in the day, but was now slipping down so that she had to keep batting it out of her face.

He held his hand out for the bow, and Cythera handed it over with the hint of reluctance of one who had begun to think of their weapon as an extension of herself. It was a good bow, the best make in Tortall, and obviously well-cared for.

'This is yours.' Gary had his observation confirmed by a little bob of Cythera's head. 'How long have you been training?'

Pleasure rushed over Cythera's face, and Gary realised she'd been expecting him to ask if she could use it, or not to believe her at all. 'A little over a month,' she said. 'Now that the Riders are a proper auxiliary force, Thayet wants her ladies trained to keep up with her on horseback, and to defend ourselves - and her - if we have to.'

Thayet, Gary reflected, had brought more change to Corus and Tortall with her gradual innovations than ever Alanna would with all her fire and determination. The maidservant brought him tea and more buns, before sinking down before the fire to mend another of Cythera's riding skirts. Complimenting its make and condition, he handed the bow back to Cythera, who beamed as she resumed oiling it. Gary sank back in his chair and focused on her hands as she talked. Her hands were small, and he could see red welts on the fingers which she used to draw the bow - another few weeks, and hard calluses would soon form on her delicate hands. Cythera talked about training by night and day, about riding hard all day ('And then fixing Her Majesty's hair when we get there'), about learning to shoot on horseback, and about falling flat in the mud while trying to shoot from a side-saddle.

'A side-saddle!'

Cythera pushed her curls back from her face again. 'Buri - Commander Tourakom - apparently thinks there might be some kind of ceremonial occasion which calls for both a formal gown and a recurve bow. I think she likes torturing us.'

Gary chuckled. 'Buri, and every drill sergeant known to mankind.' Cythera flashed him a tiny grin, and then bent her head over her bow again. She worked on the wood with firm, even strokes, and Gary fell asleep in her sitting room, watching her hands.

* * *

The summer before Alan underwent his Ordeal, he took Gary out riding with him, into the Royal Forest. All signs of jealousy on Jon's part had faded away in the past year, and the Prince had declared, with an easy grin, that Alan deserved a day away from him.

Gary had half-hoped for an easy, companionable ride: Alan's dry wit and Gary's laughter, trading court gossip, pondering Alan's future plans (Alan maintained that he was definitely leaving after his Ordeal, and Gary thought he now knew why). Whatever Gary had hoped, Alan rode in silence, his reins gripped tightly in his fists, and barely glancing Gary's way.

Gary tried to open his mouth, wanting to help and hinder this moment all in one go. _I know, it's alright, you can tell me_. The words tumbled together in his throat and never made it out. _Don't speak, don't say anything, don't make it worse,_ and these words too stalled before they reached his lips.

Eventually, he managed: 'Whatever's on your mind, you might as well say it now and get it over with.' There was a lead weight in his stomach, but he could hear his own voice, clear and even, while Alan wiped his face and swallowed and worked himself up to his confession. Did Gary know Alan was not the person he seemed to be? Of course Gary knew, and Alan was not so good at seeming as he thought he was, and Alan had always seemed to Gary to be who he was.

And then Alanna told him who she was.

* * *

'Alan!' Gary's head snapped up as the door to his study banged open without so much as a knock. He swallowed, and corrected himself: 'Alanna. I'm sorry, I-'

Alanna rolled her eyes at him and dropped herself unceremoniously into a chair.

'Well done, Gary, you're officially the last person who's ever going to make that mistake.' She crossed one ankle over her knee and linked her hands behind her head.

Gary didn't realise that other people were still making that mistake. 'I'm sorry,' he tried, again. 'You - your hair...' Alanna had, for reasons known only to herself, cut her hair into the short bob she'd worn as a page only a week ago. Gary had done a double-take every single time he'd seen her since then. Since she returned to Corus, she had hardly been seen in anything but plain breeches and shirt, sometimes with a heavy leather tunic over the top. Gary thought she might be binding her breasts again, but it was hardly the sort of thing one asked a lady knight.

'What can I do for you, Alanna?' he asked instead, marking her scowl. 'My dear cousin deprived you of the right to another duel?'

Alanna ignored his attempt at levity. 'He's ordering me out of Corus.'

' _What_?' Gary dropped his pen. 'Alanna - what have you done?'

Alanna's lip twisted, and her hands were working circles on the fabric of her breeches. 'Nothing out of the ordinary,' she insisted, but she wasn't quite meeting Gary's eyes.

'I'm pregnant,' she told the floor in front of Gary's desk.

Gary, for once in his life, said the first thing which came into his head, which was 'to George?'

Alanna shot him a Look. 'I believe you just insulted a Lady's honour, Sir Gareth,' she said quietly. 'Were I not under royal orders not to lift a sword...'

Gary stood up, and came around the side of the desk. He didn't like to stand looming over Alanna, so he perched on the end of the desk closest to her. 'Sorry,' he said, again. 'It's just - you've been here for more than a month, and George is...'

'Away,' Alanna supplied, as they all did whenever the subject of George's work came up. 'It's not new news, idiot,' she added. 'I'm a little over two months along.'

'Oh.' Gary felt unaccountably betrayed by this pronouncement. It was not that he had expected to be the first person told - among the first, but not _the_ first, as it had always been. No, it was not that. It was rather that he was unnerved. For over a month now, he had been eating meals and drinking and fencing and jousting and working and gossiping with Alanna, and the lines he tried to draw between Alan and Alanna had given up and collapsed in upon each other. Alanna fenced with the same superb skill as had Alan: with the same silent focus and the same deadly accuracy. She sharpened and polished weapons and oiled tack with the same capable, steady hands, and mocked court luminaries in the same dry undertone. Alan was Alanna, Alanna was Alan, and it was beginning to seem as if the lines between were some arbitrary product of Gary's mind. Except that, as it turned out, all the while, Alanna had been privately doing something very _female_ , and it felt a little like betrayal to Gary.

'So... what happened with Jon?' Gary prompted, as the silence stretched out too long.

'He's ordering me into confinement.' Alanna could have burnt a hole in the carpet with her glare. 'Even though I promised not to fight any duels, race any horses or lift any heavy objects.'

'So what were you intending to do then?' Gary asked, with a flicker of a grin. Alanna narrowed her eyes at him.

'Paperwork.' Gary stared back at her. 'Please, Gary. Tell Jon you need me here for some kind of urgent paperwork.'

Gary would not, and Alanna raged and stormed, and made accusations like 'if you so much as _think_ of calling me an irrational female...'. Gary had a better self-preservation instinct than that, and told Alanna so, whereupon she stormed out.

* * *

The day before Alan's ordeal dawned clear and bright. Gary woke when the palace bell clanged - years of training could not be undone. He was on the practice courts before the hour was out, and Raoul joined him shortly after. For once, Raoul did not seem to be nursing a hangover.

'Thought we'd find Alan here,' Raoul remarked, setting his sword aside and beginning a series of gentle stretching exercises.

'Not much point,' was Gary's response, already halfway through his first sword drill. 'You can't fight the Ordeal.'

'True enough,' Raoul conceded, as if he didn't know very well that both he and Gary had been down here at dawn the day before their Ordeals. 'Jon'll keep him occupied,' Raoul added, with a tiny flicker of a smile. Gary faltered in the pattern of his drill, startled. It had never occured to him that his secret - and it was truly his secret, since it turned out not to have been Alan's secret at all - might not have been his alone. Did Raoul know, or suspect, and did he guard his friend's supposed secret as carefully as had Gary?

As Gary was finishing his drills, Jon appeared, arm slung around his squire's shoulders. Alanna's jaw was set, and she whirled through her drills with a deep, fierce concentration. Gary traded blows with her for a while, until his arm was numb and Jon pried Alanna's hand from her sword.

'Fighting won't help,' the Prince told her. 'Conserve your strength.'

They ended up in the city, in the Dancing Dove, where Raoul tried to get even half a pint into Alan, 'to take his mind off things,' and Alanna refused. She sat stiff and silent, hands balled into fists, and when Raoul ordered her a pint in the second round (he'd drunk her half-pint in the first round), she snapped and tipped it on the floor.

'Drinking doesn't help!' she shouted, and slammed the tankard back on the table. 'Now leave me alone!'

Shortly after that, George escorted her upstairs, and Gary, Jon and Raoul were left staring at each other across the grubby boards.

'He's right,' Jon said quietly. The others looked at him, Gary with one eyebrow raised and Raoul with tankard in hand. 'It doesn't help. You might want to think about that, Raoul.'

For the first time in many months, Raoul left the Dove mostly sober.

* * *

Gary happened to overhear gossip to the effect that the Lioness was ordering clothes and provisions suitable for a journey north in hard weather. Suspicious, he tracked her down, and found her attacking a punching bag in her rooms.

Alanna glared up at him. 'Jon forbade me to lift a weapon,' she explained. Gary had no doubt that, as soon as she was out of Corus, she'd have her sword in hand again.

'Where are you going,' Gary went straight to the point, 'and why do you need supplies for hard winter? Last I checked, Pirate's Swoop was quite a temperate place.'

'Trebond,' she said. _Thump_ , and the punching bag swung wildly, right back into her reach and _thump_ she pounded it again. 'I've been -' _thump_ '- neglecting it dreadfully.' _Thump_. Alanna pounded the bag one final time, and then caught it around the middle and held it still.

'You're not,' Gary said, voice even.

'It's my estate. I haven't spent enough time there of late.'

'We're not having you anywhere near that border for the next year,' Gary said flatly.

'And I'm not going to sit about and twiddle my thumbs in my husband's house like some soft noblewoman,' Alanna flared back at him.

Gary gently removed her hands from the punching bag and squeezed her fingers. 'Alanna,' he took half a step back so that he could look down at her without craning. 'This is a, a very important time in your life,' the words floundered on his tongue, and he wondered how many other men had to deliver this speech. 'You should be at home, with your family. In years to come, you'll be glad that all your memories are in the one place.'

Alanna glowered up at him. 'Because all I'll want to remember in years to come is the parts about having babies?'

Gary had not been cut out for counselling pregnant women. Belligerent pregnant women. Cythera had been blessedly co-operative throughout her confinement, and Gary had handed her over to the care of his mother anyway, his mother being far better qualified to deal with that sort of thing.

'But you want this child, yes?' he was rewarded by a grudging sort of nod, 'and I _know_ George does. So you should, er, be together. And in your home. Looking forward to the birth, and so on.'

'George can join me at Trebond,' Alanna said tersely. 'It's not as though they'll let him near me when the time comes,' she added. Gary realised in a rush that he recognised that mulish look: it was one he'd seen on Alan quite often enough, one which said 'No, I am not afraid, thank you very much, and if I keep this face on long enough I might convince myself of that, too.' He'd seen it on Alanna's face, too: not when he and Jon left her in the Chamber of the Ordeal - she had been calm and composed then - but in the preceding months, as the unknown test loomed over her, a trial she could not fight and had to face alone.

Gary looped an arm around Alanna's shoulders and tugged her into an awkward sort of hug. She resisted, for a moment, and then, rather than clapping him on the back as Alan would have done, wrapped her arms around him and rested against his chest as his sisters had when they were small. Gary patted her hair and hoped she wouldn't punch him for it.

'Do you honestly think Eleni Cooper's son would stand for that?' he asked.

'I don't know,' Alanna said, into his tunic. 'Jon did,' she added.

'George,' Gary observed, 'is not Jon. I believe that's why you married him.'

Alanna disentangled herself from Gary's hug, and if her eyes were swimming, Gary knew better than to mention it. 'You're going to have Jon order me back to Pirate's Swoop, aren't you?' she asked. Gary nodded. 'Well, at least make him give me something to _do_ ,' she grumbled. 'I'm not going to sit around by myself with nothing to do while all my friends are at court and George is off risking his life somewhere.'

Gary promised her a mountain of paperwork, and she punched him for it.

* * *

Gary called on Myles of Olau and his wife Eleni. Myles had a decanter of wine and made Gary drink two consecutive toasts to Myles' impending grand-fatherhood. Eleni and her maid were bustling about packing things into saddlebags and trunks. Gary did not need to ask where she was going, and two days later, Gary stood by the palace gates and watched as a much chagrined Alanna rode out, dressed in full mail and with her sword on her hip, under the watchful eye of both Myles and Eleni. 

A week later, Gary had a letter from Alanna complaining that she was being constantly fussed over, and that Myles had got the butler drunk and won all his pay off him at cards. Two weeks after _that_ , George Cooper appeared in Corus, had one brief meeting with His Majesty, and disappeared again, riding south by the coast road. 

Three months after that, Gary tried to stop sending Alanna paperwork to complete, and received sharp letters from both Myles and George begging him to keep her occupied. Three months after _that_ , Jon appeared in Gary's study one morning looking extremely relieved, and informed him that Thom of Pirates Swoop was the latest addition to the realm, George was over the moon, and Alanna as cantankerous as ever.

Gary stared at him. 'She's using her Gift already?' Alanna was capable of magic much grander than simple communication spells, but nevertheless...

Jon blinked. 'Of course not. That was Kara,' he added, as if it was perfectly normal for Tortallan mothers to have Bazhir shamans present when they gave birth.

A week after that, Cythera knocked on his chamber door to let him know that she was riding for Pirate's Swoop in a few days' time, and did he want her to take anything in particular to Alanna and George? Gary was surprised - he hadn't known his wife and Alanna were close.

'Thayet can't go,' Cythera explained, as if that was all the reason needed. Gary kissed his wife's forehead, and when she rode south, he rode beside her.

* * *

The Swoop had no dawn bell, as the Palace had, but Gary woke with the birds anyway. Sliding out of bed, leaving Cythera asleep, he headed downstairs to an empty corner of the courtyard in which he'd seen tilting quintains and other practice equipment the day before. He was finishing his basic drills, and debating whether or not to skip the rest, as a kind of holiday, when he heard footsteps on the curtain wall above him. Alanna appeared momentarily, dressed in a sensible skirt and a man's shirt. She perched on a mounting block as Gary finished up his exercises and sheathed his sword.

'You're up early,' he said, taking a seat beside her.

'No earlier than you,' Alanna elbowed him gently. 'Can't take a holiday, can you?'

'I'll have you know that I only went through three of nine drills this morning,' Gary protested. 'And shouldn't you be recuperating, or something?'

'Babies,' Alanna declared gloomily, 'wake up early.'

'That's why the gods invented wet-nurses,' Gary told her. 

Alanna shook her head. 'Not yet,' she said, with a tiny smile, the sort of smile he'd seen on Cythera's face, and Thayet's, and even his mother's.

'Babies,' Gary pointed out, from his wealth of paternal experience, 'usually go back to sleep. Most mothers would do the same.'

'Most mothers,' Alanna told him, 'don't have insanity in their families.'

'So, then. What, in your great insanity, are you doing wandering the walls at dawn?'

'Exercising. Up and down every staircase in the castle before breakfast.' Gary conceded that this was definitely insane, and Alanna heaved herself to her feet.

'Stay there,' she ordered, before trotting off in the direction of the little shed at the side of the practice courts. She reappeared a moment later with two short staves, and tossed one in Gary's direction.

'Make yourself useful,' she instructed. 'Defend.'

Gary held the staff behind his back. 'Oh, no,' he said. 'You're not even out of confinement yet.' Alanna glowered at him. 'And you're wearing a skirt,' Gary added. 'I don't hit people in skirts.'

'Remind me to tell that to anyone wanting to attack Naxen,' Alanna said dryly. 'And how do you expect me to get back in shape if I can't train?' She brought her staff up to an offensive position and stared him down. 'Besides, you're not hitting me,' she added. 'No one's hitting me with anything until I've got in a wet-nurse.' She pulled the staff in defensively over her chest, and Gary had to laugh even as he thought that this was probably more than he wanted to know about the state of his friend's breasts.

'Now shut up, and let me hit you.'

Chuckling, Gary brought his staff up to block her strike. 'Isn't that what friends are for?' he asked.

'Quite,' Alanna said, and brought her staff down sharply on his knuckles. 'You're getting sloppy,' she reprimanded, with a smug smile.

 


End file.
